


Swinging Axes

by forensicleaf



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, But not NOT a fix-it either, Canonical Character Death Discussed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's hard to explain, Morgan is in this but she isn't a huge focus, Multiverse, Not A Fix-It, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sadness, Spider-Man: Far From Home Speculation, Spider-man: Far From Home Trailer Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forensicleaf/pseuds/forensicleaf
Summary: "What is this?" he says, voice low and dangerous, though even as he asks, a picture is forming in his head.Every odd reaction, all the unusual behavior Tony had unthinkingly chalked up to the kid being upset suddenly takes on a whole new meaning; each little moment adds together to become a neon blinking sign, screamingwarning, danger, and pointing to one simple, insane, and terrifying conclusion:This...is not Peter.





	Swinging Axes

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'm going to stop wallowing in this post-Endgame angst and go back to the happy place between Homecoming and Infinity War some time soon, but for now, please take this. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak), whose awesome fic [No Life But This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639226/chapters/44200957) started my brain down the road of creating this, and also to [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest%22), who saw one line of this story and prodded me to finish it at a time where I really needed the push. Thank you!

 

 

If this is even a fraction of how Pepper feels trying to deal with him at his most stubborn, Tony really doesn’t give her enough credit.

“C’mon baby girl,” he pleads. Because this is what he’s been reduced to over the course of the last hour — pleading with a toddler. “You love bananas.”

“No,” Morgan says, which is both the newest addition to her vocabulary, and her current favorite, much to the detriment of Tony’s blood pressure.

“Eat the bananas and I’ll let you watch the program with the bratty pig,” he tries. “I won’t even make sarcastic comments this time, scouts honor.”

Unsurprisingly, Morgan’s response is still, “No.”

Tony sits back. Let’s out a puff of air. “Okay. Standing your ground — I respect that. You’ve been paying attention to mom, huh? Art of negotiation and all that. So what’s it gonna take? You’re still a good… six years too young to be CEO. So. You want toys? Name it.”

He catches a flash of movement in his peripheral vision and looks up. It’s just Peter, landing in a graceful crouch on the balcony. Tony waves him in, then turns back to Morgan.

“Look. Uh-huh, that's right. Spider-man came all this way to make sure you eat your food, you little gremlin. Now, open.”

Morgan shakes her head, dark, wispy hair swinging around her chubby face as she twists this way and that to get away from the piece of fruit Tony is trying to press to her lips.

“No.”

Tony groans, hanging his head. At the sound of the French doors opening, he raises it again.

“Pete,” he calls over his shoulder, “thank god. My daughter’s been replaced by a banana-hating skrull.” He illustrates his point by trying once again to push a chunk of banana into Morgan’s mouth. She isn’t having any of it. “You’re still pally with Danvers, right? Think you can get her on this?”

To this, Peter doesn’t respond. Tony thought it was quite an amusing joke, but then his sense of humor is probably shot from being worn ragged trying to deal with a one-and-a-half year old who refuses to eat a single thing he puts in front of her, so go figure. He chucks the rejected piece of banana into his own mouth, abandoning his attempt at feeding the little princess for the moment. She isn’t paying attention to him anymore anyway — her eyes are focused behind him as she wiggles in her highchair, an excited toddler attempt at  _Peter_ on her lips.

"Oh sure, for him you're all sunshine," Tony grumbles, scruffing up Morgan's hair affectionately. He turns away from the mushy banana monster in front of him to greet the kid.

And frowns.

Peter is standing in in the doorway with his mask bunched tightly in his hands. His eyes are wide, face pale as he glances briefly to Morgan and then back over to Tony, his gaze almost alarming in its intensity.

For Tony, the sight leeches all of the humor from the room in an instant. All the warmth, too.  He finds himself unconsciously rising from his seat. 

Something’s wrong.

Something’s happened.

“Pete?”

Peter inhales sharply, but he doesn’t answer. In fact, he doesn’t do much of anything. Just continues to stare, standing stock still. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

"What's wrong?" Tony asks, worry making his tone sharp. "Did something happen? I didn't get any alerts from the suit. Are you —  _oof._ "

He stumbles back a step, finding his arms suddenly full of red and blue as Peter barrels into him, clinging desperately. He can feel Peter shaking — shaking so hard he can almost feel his own bones rattling, too. Instinctually, he rubs his hand up and down the kid's spine, and the ragged sob that escapes the kid as he does pulls at something deep within Tony’s core — something primal. It makes his heart ache and his arms tighten the embrace, fear and worry constricting his chest.

"What happened? Hey. Pete, I need you to talk to me. Are you hurt?"

He tries to pull back, to look at the kid’s face, but Peter’s grip is like steel as he squeezes Tony tight. A little too tight, actually. Tony winces. He forgets how strong the kid is sometimes.

“Kid, let up a sec,” he says, pushing at Peter’s shoulders. “Hey, look at me.”

A moment passes, and then reluctantly, like an octopus detaching its suckers one by one, Peter loosens his hold. He lifts his eyes, breath hitching as he meets Tony’s.

"There we go," Tony says.

As he swipes away a stray tear clinging to the kid's chin, an odd look crosses Peter's face, but Tony is too focused on scanning for signs of injury to really notice. He doesn't see any cuts or bruises, and Peter is holding himself just fine, not favoring one side more than the other. He doesn't  _look_  hurt — though going by experience, that doesn't necessarily mean anything — just incredibly distressed, which is concerning enough on its own; Tony doesn't think he's ever seen Peter like this before.

He gives Peter's shoulders a squeeze. Makes sure he has the kid's attention. "Are you hurt?" he repeats, firm.

Peter blinks at him, looking a little stunned. After a second, he shakes his head minutely. "No," he whispers.

"Okay," Tony says carefully, still not completely convinced. When Peter doesn't offer any more information, he blows out a breath. "You gotta give me something to work with here, bud. What's going on?"

Peter breathes in — a full body inhale that judders his chest. He looks at Tony, and it’s almost like whatever it is he’s holding back is trying to escape through his eyes. There is a moment where Tony is certain he’s going to spill, and then—

"Nothing," Peter says, drawing himself up and forcing a smile. It looks pained, and does absolutely nothing to reassure Tony in the way he's sure it's meant to. "It — it’s nothing. Just — stupid. Sorry. I'm — I'm sorry."

Watching him try to play the whole thing off as an overreaction is almost as painful as not knowing how to help.

"Don't be. You forget I know you, kid. If it’s got you like this, it’s not stupid.”

Peter’s mouth twitches a little at the corners — genuinely this time, though the effect is mitigated somewhat by the shimmering in his eyes. “I’m fine. Promise.”

Peter is many things, but a good liar is not one of them. Open and earnest and honest, the kid wears his heart on his sleeve — has done for as long as Tony’s known him, and longer, if May’s stories are anything to go by. Today is no different, and it’s why Tony isn’t buying it for a second.

"Pete, this is not fine."

Gaze sliding off to the side, Peter sighs. He looks... incredibly tired. Weary in a way Tony doesn't recognize in the ever-optimistic kid he knows. "I just —" he starts before cutting himself off, biting his tongue. Tony waits for him to continue. When he does, his voice is thin, strained. "I had a really bad day." 

“Girl troubles?" Tony says lightly. "Did you and MJ have a fight about the moral implications of the Prime Directive again? Because kid, I love you, but I refuse to sit through another three hours of that rant.”

Peter lets out a startled laugh that’s half sob.

“No. No it’s not that. I” — he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes as his shoulders hitch — “God, I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t — I didn’t want to—“

“Pete,” Tony says with a frown now. “You’re worrying me. What’s going on?”

Peter just shakes his head.

"Kid."

Another shake.

Tony sighs. "Do I need to pull out the big guns? 'Cause FRIDAY's got morals, but I'm pretty sure Karen's not above snitching," Tony says.

He's expecting Peter to whinge at that, even though the kid knows Tony isn't actually serious — Peter's an adult now; the baby monitor protocol is a thing of the past, used for emergencies only. What he doesn't expect, however, is the way Peter physically recoils at the suggestion, absolute panic flooding his face.

"Don't do that!" Peter blurts out. The outburst surprises him just as much as it does Tony if the way his eyes immediately widen and his mouth snaps shut is anything to go by. He takes a step back, eyes darting. "I mean—," he says, head spinning toward the way he came in. "I'm gonna — I'm—"

"Whoa, kid. Stop. I was joking. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just want to know you're all right."

Peter stills. He looks down at his arm, caught gently in Tony's hand. Tony lets go, but much to his relief Peter doesn't continue his retreat — he just stands there, shoulders rising and falling with deep, measured breaths.

When he looks up, his face is calm, though there is something sad and unreachable in his eyes as they meet Tony's.

"I love you, Mr. Stark," he says after a moment, simple and soft.

Tony's brow creases at the sudden change in direction, but he smiles despite the confusion. "I love you too, kid."

Peter's expression flickers slightly at his words, though Tony doesn't know why. It's far from the first time he's told the kid that, and far from being the last, too.

"You're my hero, you know?" Peter goes on. "You always have been. Way before we even met. I just wanted to tell you that. I didn't before."

Tony’s smile slides. Something like dread starts to curl in his gut and he isn't quite sure why.

"Pete... you have told me that."

"Oh," Peter says, flat. "Okay. Then I wanted to tell you again."

Tony feels like he's getting whiplash. Like there's an elephant in the room that only Peter can see. He doesn’t like it. He knows he said he'd let it go, but...

"What's this all about, kid?"

He can practically see the shutters going down behind Peter’s eyes before the kid looks away. Feels his withdrawal like it's physical. The urge to reach out toward him is almost overwhelming, but Tony has the feeling that rather than bridging this invisible, inexplicable rift between them, it would only widen it.

“Just… thought you should hear it,” Peter says quietly.

Before Tony can formulate a response, he’s cut off by Morgan, who lets out a high-pitched squall, unhappy at having been ignored for so long. Tony moves towards her, but Peter gets there first, looking immensely relieved for the distraction.

"Hi," Peter says, crouching down in front of the highchair. He taps Morgan's nose gently, only to have his finger immediately clenched in a chubby fist. "What's wrong, huh? Why so grumpy?"

Tony crosses his arms. Changing the subject, avoidance — somehow the kid's managed to commandeer all of his best tactics, and if Tony weren't the one being shut out right now, he'd almost be proud. 

"Payback for all the times I had Pepper tearing her hair out, I'm sure," he says, frowning. "Pete—"

"She's so small," says Peter, awe in his voice. Then he stiffens. He glances at Tony, cheeks turning pink. "I mean — I just...forget sometimes."

"Yeah? Try carrying her round Disneyland for a day. You'll soon think otherwise."

Peter smiles, a little wistful. His face brightens as he turns back to Morgan, who babbles and swings her fist around, still firmly clamped around his finger. "I'd like that."

Tony sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Whatever's bothering Peter is now firmly bothering him too, but he decides to back off for the moment. He's getting nowhere fast with his current approach.

"If you can get her to eat her bananas, we'll talk about the tickets," he says, turning his head as his phone starts to buzz against the counter top.

"Phone, Boss," FRIDAY says.

"Yeah, got it," Tony says, reaching for the device. He hits  _answer_  automatically when he sees the caller I.D, but it isn’t until the chipper, slightly breathless voice comes across the line that he actually registers the name on the screen.

And his blood runs cold.

“ _Hey Tony_ ,” says the unmistakable voice of Peter Parker — the same Peter Parker who is sitting less than five feet away from him, trying to coax Morgan into eating a chunk of banana. The same Peter Parker whose body goes as stiff as Tony’s as the voice comes through the phone’s speakers.

“ _I know you’re busy with Morgan today but if it’s okay with you I’m gonna swing by the apartment in a bit. I’ve got a nick in the suit and I think it’s messing with Karen cause she’s uh — well, she’s speaking in Spanish now, which is great practice, but not so great when I’m trying to avoid the bad guys, you know?”_

The Peter in front of him turns his head. He stares at Tony, eyes wide and unblinking and... guilty. For a moment that seems to stretch into infinity, Tony stares straight back. Hairs rise on the back of his neck.

“ _Tony?_ ” He almost jumps at the voice in his ear. “ _Mr. Stark, are you there?_ ”

Tony unsticks his tongue. “Not a good time. I’ll call you back,” he says quickly, hanging up before the kid on the other end can get out more than an indignant,  _hey!_

He doesn't dare blink. Save for Morgan’s hushed grizzling, the room is silent. Tense. His earlier joke about skrulls suddenly seems much less amusing.

"What is this?" he says, voice low and dangerous, though even as he asks, a picture is forming in his head. Every odd reaction, all the unusual behavior Tony had unthinkingly chalked up to the kid being upset suddenly takes on a whole new meaning; each little moment adds together to become a neon blinking sign, screaming  _warning, danger,_ and pointing to one simple, insane, and terrifying conclusion:

This...is not Peter.

He stares down at the person crouched on the floor. Skrull or clone or — or fucking  _Loki,_  Tony doesn't know, but whatever the hell is going on here, whatever this  _not_ -Peter is, he is sitting far too close to Tony's daughter for comfort. Far too close for Tony to even begin to try and think it through, figure it out. Fear, and anger, and the fierce need to _protect_ war with each other in Tony’s chest, a sharp ache behind his sternum.

"Tony—"

“Get away from her,” Tony says as evenly as he can — only because he doesn’t want to scare Morgan. He hopes she is too young to remember the way his hands are shaking right now.

A stricken look crosses not-Peter’s face, but he’s on his feet and backing up in an instant, hands raised, palms forward.

“I can explain,” he says quickly, looking every bit the part of the kid he's imitating, down to the crease between his brows. It both angers Tony and has him hesitating.

But only for a second. His fingers twitch toward his chest. Towards the housing unit concealed there under his shirt. His jaw tightens.

“Explain.”

"I —" Hesitation. A flick of eyes to the balcony.

"Don't even think about it," Tony growls, sending a surge of nanites down his arm to form a gauntlet. He takes a couple of steps sideways so Morgan is behind him, notices the hurt look that crosses Peter's — the stranger's — face as he does.

"I'm not  _dangerous._ I'm not going to — you think I would hurt Morgan?"

"I  _think_ I don't know who the hell you are," Tony says. "Or why you're parading around with my kid's face, so." The gauntlet whines.

“I—” a frustrated puff of breath. Lips pressing together. “Okay, it’s — I know it’s going to sound insane, but please just listen to me,” the person says. “I’m Peter.”

Tony scoffs. “I just spoke to Peter.”

“Yeah, I know that. I’m not saying — look, I  _am_ Peter, all right?. I am. I’m just… not  _your_  Peter.”

“Not my Peter,” Tony repeats, tone flat. “Okay. I’ve heard enough.”

“It’s the truth!” Peter exclaims. "C’mon Mr. Stark,  _please._ I — just think about it. How did I get in here if I’m not me? How’d I get up to the penthouse from the outside?”

It’s a good point, but far from definitive proof as far as Tony’s concerned.

“FRI, give me a location on the kid’s suit, would you,” he says, eyes narrowed.

“On it,” comes FRIDAY’s reply. Then, unsure, “Boss, I’m getting two readings. One right here and one in Corona. I checked it twice. It’s not an error.”

Okay, that’s… yeah that’s a little weird.

Tony gives the kid in front of him a scrutinizing look. He lowers his hand slightly, thinking.

“Say I believe you,” he says, “and I don’t, but say I do — care to explain how there’s suddenly two Peter Parker’s running around New York?”

Peter hesitates for a second, then, says, "I don't know if I should—"

"You should," Tony cuts him off.

More hesitation, then, not breaking eye contact, Peter slowly lowers his hands, reaches for his right wrist. Tony tenses, but he doesn’t stop him.

“This,” Peter says, pulling back the sleeve of his suit to reveal a dark looking watch with a wide, rectangular-shaped face. Tony eyes it curiously, quite sure he’s never seen anything quite like it, but finding it uncannily familiar at the same time. “It’s an inter-dimensional GPS. I've not had a whole lot of time to figure out exactly how it works, but that's how Fury described it, anyway. It's uh — it's based on something you designed, actually. Well, not  _you,_ you. The you from my world.”

Tony blinks.  _What?_

“Your — I’m sorry, your world?”

“Yeah I know, it’s — well I thought it was crazy, too, but turns out there’s more than one. A lot more, actually. Go figure. I know I shouldn’t have come to this one, and I'm sorry for freaking you out, but— I don’t know. Everything is so similar here and I just… needed to see, I guess.” He smiles, a little lopsided, a little sad. “It’s really me, Mr Stark. A different me, yeah, but still me.”

Well, he’s right about one thing: it does sound crazy, but…

Tony looks at him. Really looks. And the more he does, the more his fears of this being some kind of insidious attempt at infiltration dissipate. Because for as much as the person standing in front of him looks like Peter, he also… doesn’t.

Tony hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it’s because despite Peter being in his second year of college now — an adult in his own right — Tony still struggles not to think of him as that fifteen year old kid who’d stammered out an introduction the first time they’d met, the kid who’d called Happy twenty times a day to report on all the things he’d been up to as Spider-man, just in case; maybe it’s just because Peter has always looked so much younger when he’s upset — tears and wide eyes taking years off of him. Tony doesn’t know. But now, really looking, he can see: this Peter Parker — and something within him tells him this  _is_ Peter Parker — is at least a couple of years younger than the Peter Parker he knows. Tony guesses he’s around seventeen — eighteen at the oldest.

“You’re talking about a multiverse,” Tony says, trying to wrap his head around it.

Peter’s face softens, eyebrows rising as he nods eagerly. “Exactly. Yeah.”

Tony exhales hard. A fucking  _multiverse_. He’s familiar with the concept, y’know, as a  _concept._ This is…. This is something else. All of the implications of what he’s being told spin off on uncountable tangents in his brain. He feels like his head is about to explode. “Except that’s just theoretical,” he says, thinking out loud. “If it isn’t then it completely changes how we understand the initial singularity and — what?”

Peter is staring at him, awe and a slow smile spreading across his face. As Tony breaks off, he barks out a laugh, eyes misty. “Nothing. Nothing, I just — I really missed you, Mr. Stark.”

There's a horrible, glaring implication in that statement that brings Tony's enthusiasm to a grinding halt.

“Missed me? Where’d I go?”

Instantly, Peter’s expression darkens, his body tensing as he realizes what he’s just said. He looks away, and in that moment, everything that’s happened since the kid landed on the balcony pretty much falls into place — the desperation in the hug, the deep emotion in Peter’s eyes that Tony had been unable to decipher, but can now recognize as grief. It doesn’t take much more than that to come to a conclusion that twists his stomach.

“I’m dead,” he says, seeing in Peter’s face that it’s the truth. Sees it in the way his lip trembles, the way his eyes glisten. "I'm — your Tony, he's..."

“I’m sorry.”

_Jesus Christ._

Tony swallows thickly. “How? No, wait. I don’t — I don’t want to know.” He drags a hand over his chin. Through his hair.  _God damn it._ “How?”

Peter isn't forthcoming. He presses his lips together, looking uneasy. Torn.

“At least tell me it wasn’t something stupid,” Tony says with a laugh that sounds hollow even to his own ears. “Like — falling down the stairs or, I don’t know, choking on a grape or something.”

He’s had to contend with his mortality more times than most, and had always thought it was something he’d come to terms with a long time ago. There was only so long he could fly around as Iron Man unscathed, after all. But then he’d met Peter, married Pepper, had Morgan, and suddenly it wasn’t so much about him leaving the world as it was about what he was leaving behind. 

He can see the pain of it on this Peter’s face. It makes him think of his own Peter. Of Morgan, kicking in her seat behind him, not even two years old yet. He wonders if there’s a Morgan in this other world, too, growing up now without a father. A Pepper, shouldering a responsibility, a  _life,_  that should have been shared. A wife, two kids — all of them having to go on with a hole in their lives that Tony knows from experience never fully heals. He feels sick.

“You saved everyone,” Peter tells him, and though it should be a comfort, it isn't. "You saved all of us."

Of all the ways to go, Tony truly can't think of any better, but still the grief encapsulates him, sits hard and aching in his gut. Not for himself, though — for Peter, and the tears that spill out onto his cheeks as he looks at Tony, seeing a ghost. For the insurmountable losses the poor kid has had to deal with in his life and the injustice of it all. 

 _I'm sorry,_ he wants to say, but he doesn't. Because he knows, deep down in his bones, that the other Tony wouldn't have been — not if whatever he did meant the people he loved got to breathe another day. He knows it because he knows himself — knows he would make the exact same decision in a heartbeat.

"I shouldn't have told you," Peter says, swiping at his face. Swiping at the tears that won't stop coming now. "I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry, I'm—"

"Kid, come here."

Peter doesn't move.

"Come here or I'm coming to you." 

Hesitantly, still trying to get the tears under control, Peter steps toward him. When he's close enough, Tony pulls him the rest of the way and into his arms, holding him tight and wishing he could do more. Peter's breaths hiccup against his chest. Tony feels the growing dampness where Peter's face is pressed against his shoulder and he squeezes a little tighter still. He knows this isn't his Peter — the same way he's not this Peter's Tony — but in this moment, he realizes: it doesn't matter — he'd do anything for Peter Parker, no matter what universe he's from.

He  _can_ do something for him.

"I'm not him," he says, cheek resting against the kid's hair. "I'm sorry I can't be. But I get the feeling we weren't too different, so I want you to hear something, and remember it.” He clears his throat. “Meeting you is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. You changed my life, kid. In all the best ways. Give me more gray hairs than I can count, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. And I don't know if your Tony ever told you that, but I’d bet everything I own he felt the same. He loved you, Pete.  _I_ love you. And I can't imagine any universe out there where you don't make me proud every damn day."

Peter sniffles against his chest.

"Okay, kid?"

Against his chest, a nod. Then a murmur.

"Thank you."

 And then, against his left shoulder blade, a short vibration, and the staccato sound of two quick electronic beeps.

“Uh…,” Tony says the same time as Peter jumps back with a throaty, “crap,” staring at the watch on his wrist in panic.

Peter shakes his head. “I’m not ready yet,” he murmurs, more to himself than to anyone else. He looks up at Tony, eyes imploring, and  _god_ Tony wishes he could answer the plea he sees there. He hates that he knows he can’t.

“It’s okay, Pete.”   

"I don't want—" Peter starts. Cuts himself off. "I have to go."

Tony isn’t quite sure which of them he’s trying to persuade.

The watch bleeps again, somehow sounding more insistent, despite the notes being the same two tones. Peter looks at it, mouth downturned. Gives a short, pained laugh.

"I think Fury might be mad at me."

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Thought Fury gave you the go ahead for this little inter-dimensional excursion?”

“Uh…no. Not — not exactly,” Peter says sheepishly. Then he shrugs, the ghost of a smile spreading across his face. “Figured it'd be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

That has Tony barking a laugh. “Atta boy.” He ruffles Peter's hair. Doesn't miss the way the kid's face goes soft when he does.

The watch beeps again. Peter’s lip trembles.

"Time to face the music, kid. Knowing Fury, you probably don’t want to keep him waiting too much longer,” Tony says gently. He gives Peter's shoulder one final squeeze, and then he lets him go.

Looking like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do, Peter takes a couple of steps back, fingers hovering over the watch face. He lifts his head.

“About what I told you… you don’t need to worry. In this universe things went a little better. We won the first time around.”

It’s cryptic, but it’s enough. Tony hadn’t even realised it was there, but at Peter’s words, something tight unfurls itself in his chest. He takes a breath — feels it fill his lungs easier than before.

“Thanks, Pete.”

Peter nods, looks down to the watch, then looks back up again, eyes shining.

"Mr. Stark, I—"

"Yeah, me too, kid." Tony smiles, despite the ache behind his breastbone. "Go."

Peter holds his gaze, and then he nods again, just once. Firm. His fingers tap against the watch and something changes in the air. It feels like the residual buzzing of an electric shock, like a low-level current running over Tony's skin.

"See you," Peter says, quiet. Then a hint of a teasing smile lifts the edges of his mouth. "Oh, and you should know — the bananas are probably a lost cause. Our Morgan hates them, too."

And then, with a shimmering that looks like ripples across a lake, he's gone.

Tony stands there for a long time after, staring at the empty space where he'd been and feeling a loss that he can't quite describe.

Eventually, though, he moves.

The first thing he does is throw the bananas in the trash. Then he pulls Morgan out of her highchair and hugs her tight, breathing his grief into the wispy tufts at the crown of her head as she squirms in that restless way that toddlers do.

Ten minutes later, when Peter Parker lands on the balcony in a graceful crouch and makes his way inside, Tony hugs him tight, too.

"I love you, kid. You know that, right?" he says, unable to hide the choked quality to his voice.

Peter huffs against his neck.

"Duh. I love you, too." He pats Tony on the back, then draws back, frowning. "Why are you being weird?"

Tony laughs, blinking away the stinging in his eyes.

"Been a weird day, bud."

"Okay," Peter says, giving him a curious look. "Do you — do you want to help me fix the suit?"

Tony smiles, pushing down the guilt that comes with the joy of being right here, in this moment, grateful to exist. Grateful to be alive.

"Yeah, Pete. I'd like that a lot."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I worked really hard on this — dialogue is, uh, not my forte — so I'd really love to hear what you think!! Drop me a comment — I'm not even going to pretend I don't live for them :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Swinging Axes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167688) by [sophinisba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba)




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